Page 62 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“You’ve been getting harassed?” Caleb whispers. “What the fuck, Margo?”

“Language,” Coach snaps. “Show me.”

I bite my lip and slide my phone to him. He scrolls through the messages, his scowl deepening.

“What happened with Ian?”

I jerk. “What?”

“The last message is from you. ‘Why did you help me with Ian?’”

“Um…”

Caleb’s gaze is on me, too.

I suppose I dug myself into this hole. “Ian…”

“Beat her in the woods,” Caleb finishes, not looking away from me. “And I found her.”

He was gentle.

My stomach still hurts if I move the wrong way, but I’m mostly okay. My skin is still tinted yellow from fading bruises, and the bite mark on my wrist scabbed over. I keep it covered. With everything that’s happened, I forgot about the attack—and the aftermath.

I blink back tears.

Coach grunts. I have the feeling he doesn’t often deal with girls, much less crying ones.

“The note is a lie,” Caleb says. “The photo—”

“Blackmail,” Coach finishes. He shakes his head and slides a travel pack of tissues to me.

I grab one and blow my nose.

“Still, this is the type of thing you need to avoid.” Coach leans back in his chair. “You’re to be the picture-perfect lacrosse captain.”

Caleb shakes his head. “I don’t party. I don’t drink. And Margo—”

I glance at him. Margo, what? What lie is he going to spin now?

“We’re dating,” he finishes smoothly. “What happens outside of that is our business.”

Coach Marzden appraises us, and it’s hard not to squirm.

“You two didn’t break up?”

Caleb raises his eyebrows. If Coach wasn’t analyzing our expressions, I’m sure he’d be smirking at me.

Gotcha, he seems to say.

Except… he’s underestimating me. Again. He’s expecting me to save him—but the whole point of this was the opposite. To ruin him.

“We did break up, Coach.” I stand, straightening my skirt. “I’ve told him repeatedly, and he doesn’t get it. Frankly, he borders on stalkerish sometimes.”

Coach’s mouth drops open.

“And your—how did they say it? Star lacrosse player?—is a liar.” I snatch my phone from the table and shoulder my bag, leaving his office.

It feels good to walk away from them. It didn’t unfold the way I imagined—I had more of a direct hand in his destruction, unfortunately—but it’s still… I’m lighter. I slip into class and shrug apologetically at the teacher.

---